What If?
by Lala Kate
Summary: An unplanned pregnancy turns into far more than Regina bargained for as past discrepancies force her to examine her life from an entirely new angle.
1. Chapter 1

_So this is basically OQ speculation wrapped up in drabble form. I do hope you all enjoy it! Obviously, I don't own Ouat or any of its characters, but I so enjoy having them over to play. :)_

* * *

"You do know that you're pregnant, Regina?"

She stares hard back at Whale, scratching her arm's itchy response to this blasted hospital gown Snow somehow convinced her to put on against her better judgment. He's watching her too closely, she thinks, and she fights back the urge to incinerate the man on the spot.

"I do," she admits, her eyes dropping to her hands, noticing how they are tugging mindlessly on the course blanket lying on top of her lap. She stills them deliberately, composes her features and gazes back at him hard. "I assume that's why I fainted."

Whale purses his lips, rocking back and forth on his heels as his eyes narrow. He's enjoying this too much, she thinks—seeing her in a somewhat vulnerable position—even if he obviously fears what The Evil Queen having a biological child could mean.

"Yes," he nods, dramatizing the moment far more than necessary. "That and the fact that you're not eating enough and sleeping even less." He then raises a hand defensively as she opens her mouth to protest. "Henry told me. He's been worried about you, it would seem."

Henry. Henry has been worried. About her.

Her lungs deflate, her shoulders dropping as her head falls back on the hard pillow.

"I'm fine," she protests, one hand moving to her abdomen protectively, praying wordlessly that she is—that her child is—this child whose existence became known to her only days ago. This child conceived in a moment of unguarded passion with a man whose love both healed and shattered her heart. "I just can't seem to keep anything down these days."

Her stomach lurches as if on cue, and she grabs the glass of water on the table, taking a sip as she presses down the urge to vomit.

"You're healthy," he corrects. "And your baby seems to be healthy. But to say that you're _fine_ would be taking it too far under your current circumstances." He swallows, breathing out through his nose. "You're six weeks pregnant, and the baby's father…"

"My child's father is none of your concern," she cuts in, her mouth thinning into an impenetrable line.

"I think the entire population of Storybrooke will have no doubt who the baby's father is," he retorts, all too satisfied with himself. "And Leroy will be sure to inform those too stupid to figure it out for themselves. But the fact remains that you need to rest, Regina. Rest and eat. I'd like to keep you here overnight to make certain—"

"That's not necessary," she argues, sliding her legs off the side of the bed in an attempt to stand. "I can do both of those much better from home without you and your band of misfit toys hovering over me."

He sighs audibly, stepping directly into her path, making it nearly impossible for her to stand up gracefully.

"That may be so," Whale stated, his voice carrying more than a slight edge. "But there are some tests I'd like to run—"

"There is no way in hell that you are going to run any tests on me or my baby," she bites, her face now hot. "Now if you'll stand aside…"

"You've borne another child, Regina."

His statement stills her in her tracks, her lungs as devoid of air as surely as if she had been punched in the gut.

"What did you say?" she manages, her limbs feeling heavy and numb. "I've never had a baby—I've never even been pregnant before. God, for most of my adult life, I've believed that I was incapable of it."

The admission is still bitter, still carries weight even though her womb now cradles physical evidence to the contrary.

"Your body states otherwise," Whale interjects, and she knows he's not lying even as her mind cannot interpret fast enough to keep up. Her hands begin to shake, her chest hollowing until her breath feels cold, and she closes her eyes, trying to summon forth an image, a memory, even a fragment of something lost to her.

"This can't be," she whispers, more to herself than to him, her hands cupping the child now growing in her womb, half-terrified of probing into a past that has nearly crippled her on more than one occasion. "I would remember a baby—my baby."

But she of all people understands the power of a memory curse, and she suddenly feels very young, very frightened and terribly, terribly exposed. Doubt wraps around her with the vice of an unseen specter, its grip both suffocating and frigid.

"Oh, God," she breathes, staring into nothing, her mind reeling down one rabbit hole after another, chasing after figments moving far too fast for her to capture. She's going to be sick, there's no way to stop it now, and she clutches her hand to her mouth, breathing in and out through her nose, shutting her eyes to a world spinning out of control. _Robin_, her heart pounds, _Robin_, her mind echoes, and she shakes her head to silence the persistent chorus making her skin feel too tight for her own body.

A pan is placed on her lap, and she wretches into it, her eyes tearing helplessly in the process. A cool cloth is laid on her neck, and she takes it from him, not wanting his hands anywhere on her body, craving the touch and assurance of one now lost to her forever.

She reaches again for the water with trembling hands, sipping it slowly, rinsing the taste of bile from her mouth before taking another drink to calm her throat. Whale removes the pan from her hands and disposes of her vomit before leaving it by the door and returning to her bedside.

"This can't be," she repeats, not believing her own declaration as she wipes her cheeks. "It's not right."

"No," he states flatly. "Having your memories stolen from you is never right."

She feels the reproof in his words, her skin prickling in an automated denial that no longer protects her. She takes another sip of her water before her body forces her to recline back onto the thin mattress and sterile sheets.

"You may not remember it," he continues. "You may have no idea who fathered the baby or what happened to him, but this fact remains." Whale pauses, pressing his lips together once more before lowering his voice. "You have given birth before, Regina," he insists, and his words pulse into her nervous system, travelling through both marrow and bone straight to her core. "This is not your first pregnancy."


	2. A missing chapter

_I was prompted on tumblr to write a realistic drabble of Regina giving birth, my prompter reasoning that since I am a mother of two, I might be able to write about childbirth. So I took on the challenge, setting this drabble in the universe of What If?. My dear friend miscreant rose assures me I penned an accurate portrayal, and as she is a doula, I feel safe in posting this. Or as safe as I ever feel when I post something I write. (I was too terrified to share my writing at all a mere two years ago.)_

_That being said, I hope you enjoy it. And no-this tale is not a substitute for birth control. ;) I don't own Ouat in case you were wondering. There will be upcoming additions to this verse._

_And as always, your feedback means more than you know!_

* * *

Here it comes. Oh, God…she isn't ready…it's too soon, too close, too...

A cry rips from her body as she grips an arm with inhuman strength, digging her nails in deep, biting her lip until she's certain she tastes blood.

"Shhh. It's alright. It has passed. Breathe, Regina. Just breathe."

She can't reply to him, her arms still shaking, her breathing shallow and heavy. She swallows—once, twice, trying to slack her thirst, then a goblet is pressed into her hand and she is propped on to a strong chest, warm palms caressing the matted hair back from her face that has escaped from her plait.

"Drink," he instructs, and she does so, too weary to argue, too spent to do anything by comply. Her throat absorbs the water, its cool texture soothing her in a manner nothing else can at the moment. She closes her eyes, her mind drifting from their cottage to the lake near her childhood home, the lake to which she would sneak away for secret swims, returning home with a sopping shift and wet hair, scrambling madly to right the damage before her mother got wind of her indiscretion.

Her mother. Gods, she can never find out about this, about him, about their child they've taken great pains to hide from a world all too keen to judge them for their choices. The thoughts of what will happen if Cora discovers them are too horrifying to entertain, and this is not the time...

A wave of nausea hits her then, and she leans over the side of the bed, vomiting into the basin positioned there for just that purpose. She heaves until the veins are bulging in her temples, until tears are streaming freely down her face, until she is limp and useless, a sweaty form propped up only by the strength of one who loves her more than she can comprehend.

"I can't do this much longer," she manages, her voice the texture of sand as she swallows down the taste of bile. He helps her drink again, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands steady in contrast to her own. Then arms wrap around her, a kiss is placed upon her temple, and she closes her eyes again, spinning into a semi-detached state for one blessed moment.

"Yes, you can," he assures her as tears continue to pool in the corners of her eyes. "You're my brave, strong girl. You can do anything you set your mind to do. I think we've proven that."

One of the women attending her stares at them hard, and Regina is certain she knows—that she realizes just who she is in spite of their location, despite all of the precautions they have taken. There's more than a hint of disapproval in her glance, and she feels him stiffen behind her, certain he has noticed it, too.

Then that doesn't matter anymore as a contraction rips through her womb, the strongest one yet, cramping in her groin and thigh muscles until her lower back knots itself into a ball of pain so intense she's certain she won't survive it. She pushes against it, crying out shamelessly, the need to drive it away the most overpowering instinct she has ever experienced.

"Not yet, miss," the midwife instructs, her voice firm yet gentle, her expression untroubled and sedate. "It's not time to push just yet. Breathe in deeply, feel the air pass through your lungs to your babe. Let it soothe you both until it's time for the little one to make an entrance."

She nods, trying her best to do as she's instructed, groaning as an aftershock ripples across her groin. The pressure is constant now, the pains coming closer and closer together, and she bites back a cry, too weak now to shift into a more comfortable position.

"How much longer?" he questions, his steady grip on her arm the only thing keeping her somewhat sane at the moment.

"It shouldn't be much longer," the older woman assures him. "Her body is nearly ready, and the babe is in a good position, it would seem."

Her back spasms then, excruciating bands wrapping around her abdomen and thighs from back to front, binding her in a vice that nearly blinds her as his name tears from her lips in a howl of agony. She tries to push it off, to yell it away, but it only intensifies until words are leaving her in an uncontrolled stream, curses and cries strung together in an impassioned plea to a higher power for this just to be over. Her legs are cramping, convulsive waves she never expected in the midst of labor, the pain at the juncture of her thighs nearly as intense as the ones slicing her abdomen and spine into.

"Do something," she commands, grabbing his arm, her tone edgy and bitter. "Anything to get this baby out of me."

She senses hands on her belly, feels her gown being pushed up higher over her bare thighs, and a part of her understands she is full exposed at this point, her legs wide open to everyone in the room. But she cannot care, not now, not when she would cut off her arm to get this hellish agony to just stop.

"Ah, yes," the midwife sighs, pushing just below her distended naval. "We're nearly there." Then a hand slides between her legs, moving inside of her, feeling something she cannot see over the small mountain of her stomach. "You'll be able to push soon, miss."

"Did you hear that?" he whispers, shifting her body for her, dropping one hand to rub her lower back as best as he can. "We're nearly there, Regina. Just hold on, love."

"Stop," she cries, slapping his hand away, unable to bear his touch there, her nerves fully exposed, her pain too acute. He seems somewhat taken aback, but only for a moment, and he returns his grip to her arms, rubbing and massaging, holding her close.

"Is this alright?" he questions, but she answers with an inhuman keening that pushes up from her toes. It speeds up her limbs with a blinding hot pain, burning blood and skin, and she wonders if she is dying, if her final moments on earth will be in giving life to this child conceived in reckless passion and a love she'd sell her soul to protect. Perhaps this is her punishment for defying her mother, to die giving birth, to never experience the happiness that has always been just out of her grasp.

She claws him in her agony, shaking her head as she raises up to a sitting position, pressed forward by the force of the child inside of her. Everything is a blur, a hazy fog of pain and confusion, and sheer terror grips her as the midwife shouts something she can't make out, her world narrowing into a gray tunnel of panic.

"Now, my lady," she hears, and she's not sure what to do, exactly, shaking her head, trying her best not to succumb to tunnel vision. "Now! Push. It's time."

It's time, it's time, but her strength has left her, her limbs no sturdier than a puddle, her eyes blurred and wet.

"I can't," she pants, sucking air into her lungs as a large hand moves to the top curve of her hard stomach. "I can't do this."

"You can," he assures her, gripping her hand. "I know you can. Hold on to me, love. I've got you. I've got you both."

She grinds her fingers into his, somehow finding a well of strength there, feeling it speed up her palm into her shoulders before it shoots straight to her womb, prompting her to push just as the next contraction hits. He cries out with her, leaning forward, supporting her back.

"That's my girl," he encourages as she slumps forward, spent beyond her limits. "You're doing splendidly, Regina. Our baby will be here soon."

"Soon," she echoes, her voice now no more than a cracked edge, and she licks parched lips as her head slumps backwards on to his shoulder.

"I see the head," the midwife adds, and she hears him gasp next to her ear. "Whenever you're ready, miss, give me another push."

The pain smacks her from behind this time, and her mouth gapes open, screaming in silence until her voice catches up. The pressure is so intense, she's certain her internal organs are being expelled from her body, but she hears an encouraging sound from one of the attendants as she attempts to catch her breath.

"That's it!" the midwife cries excitedly. "One more should do it. I've got a hold of the shoulders now."

The shoulders…her baby…their child. She tries to prepare herself for one last rally, breathes in as deeply as she can, screaming at the top of her lungs as lightening streaks down her spine to her belly and rips her from top to bottom. Her teeth are biting, she pushes until her legs shake, worn to the point of blackness before something pushes through, something warm and wet, ushering in a flood of relief that makes every muscle quiver at its expulsion from her body. She hears mingled voices chatting, instructions being shouted, then a slap and a cry, and something invades her from the inside out with an intensity that nearly sucks the breath from her lungs.

She's in love before she ever sees, before she feels, before she touches, and she leans on the man who gave her this child, waiting, straining, needed to see, weeping alongside the cries of her baby as small fists pound at the air just in front of her.

"You did it," he breathes, laughing—crying, or both just as she is, and he kisses her temple as limbs liquefy into his chest. She feels his tears mingle with her own on the planes of her skin, exhaustion now intertwining with relief and elation as tingles of wonder make their way up her body.

Then the baby is placed on her chest, now clean, but red and angry, waves of black hair tickling her skin as the child squirms and moves against her. She examines fingers, counts toes, strokes the silken texture of new skin, inhales the scent of life awakening, life that has come from her and the man who dares to love her with all he has.

"Robin," she whispers, his name now a prayer, a benediction on this child she cradles close. "How…how did we do this?"

He chuckles and kisses her cheek, and she smiles at her own question, her eyes never leaving tiny lids just daring to open for the first time. They're blue, she sees, deep and dark, the color of the sky at twilight, hovering between light and darkness.

"The only way to do it, as far as I know," he returns, securing his arm around her as the other caresses their squirming newborn. He leans forward and touches his lips to hers, one hand moving to cup the back of her head, and they rest their heads together, gazes fixed upon this tiny being who will change their lives forever.

"Your eyes," she breathes, watching as tiny fingers wrap around his one, her breath catching at the sight of it.

"They'll turn brown soon," he murmurs, kissing her cheek yet again. "I'm certain of it."

She shakes her head, wanting them to remain blue, to retain this feature from the man she cannot live without, the man for whom she left a palace and a crown, the man who will face certain death if they are ever discovered.

"I hope not," she whispers, breathing words of protection over her baby, this small miracle that now fills a heart once brimming with bitterness with the purest love it has ever known. Then a nuzzle, a reaching fist, and the baby leans into her chest, prompting her to gaze at the midwife for instruction as the older woman step forward and pulls the edge of Regina's gown down over her shoulder. Her breast is exposed, her nipple large and inviting, and the midwife helps her guide the infant's head towards it, the babe's mouth finding what he seeks instinctively.

"Our son," she mutters, kissing the boy's forehead as she helps puckered lips latch on to her breast, then sensation of life passing from her body to his too wonderful to fathom.

"Our son," he echoes, and she closes her eyes, absorbing these words of promise before a sleep nearly as deep as death overtakes her body.


	3. Chapter 3

"Come on, Gina!"

Small fingers intertwine with her own, tugging her towards the lake as his other hand dangles the bag of stale bread she'd given him earlier, clearly trying to entice her towards the chorus of quacks erupting from the water's edge. She scans the park behind them as she stands fixed in place, the shot of ice crawling up her spine making her clutch her slightly rounded stomach instinctively as she pulls the boy closer to her side.

"Is something the matter?"

Eyes that match the chocolate still smudged on his cheek look up at her, and she kneels down to his level, watching as the wind toys with his curls. So much is the matter right now, she muses, the fact that hers is not the only child being born to Robin, the fact that the other was conceived through illicit deception, the fact that both of them fear their child will be favored over Zelena's when neither of them want to admit it, even to themselves.

Then there's the additional fact that at some point in her life, she gave birth to a child she can't even remember, something that gnaws at her far more deeply than does Zelena's pregnancy, that eats at her with more vigor than Emma's darkness.

"_We'll figure it out,"_ Robin has assured her repeatedly with more confidence than either of them truly possess._ "We won't stop until we do, Regina."_

But the trail has run cold, her memory loss so complete that not even the pangs of a second pregnancy have stirred lost images from her past.

"No, sweetheart," she lies, stroking Roland's cheek as he studies her far too closely. "I'm just a little tired."

That seems to placate him, at least for the moment, and he grins up at her, swinging their joined hands as he resumes his job of leading her to the lake, jumping excitedly at the sound of incessant quacking. She pauses again, once, twice, confusing her waist-high companion but not enough to deter his enthusiasm, even as she begins to realize that something is off.

Correction. Something is very off.

Heat and cold scurry up and down her legs, something she doesn't write off as a symptom of pregnancy, even though her body continues to surprise her with the manner by which it is stretching out in more directions than one. Roland leaves her by the bench as he skips towards the overly-fed ducks, laughing as they begin to swarm his feet when they realize just what he's carrying in that sack of his.

"Be careful," she calls out, taking a step in his direction, only to hear him squeal in delight even as he jumps back a step or two. His beaming smile warms a place in her he's already claimed as his own, a part he's marked with smudged fingerprints and dimples, with drops of jelly dotting the table and kitchen floor, with a stuffed monkey he sleeps with every night and calls _George_ after his favorite books and television show.

He already feels like hers, even though there's still so much to work out. She just wishes she didn't feel as if something were terribly wrong.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

It's the voice that slices her from behind, its steely edge an echo from another world that moves directly to her heart and squeezes mercilessly, effectively freezing it in place. It can't be, but it is. She knows it even as the dreaded word slides from her lips.

"Mother."

The two syllables slam into her ribs as nails into her coffin, and she spins in place to face the impossible.

"Hello, Regina."

For a moment she hopes she's hallucinating, that Granny's pancakes aren't settling quite right, but she knows better-she knows all too well. If anyone could manage to breach the underworld, to find a way back from the dead and torment her when she's already feeling stretched far too thin, it would be her mother. She blinks, but the vision standing just feet from her doesn't change.

Cora stands just there, donned in black and crimson, her hair immaculate, her skin a shade whiter than usual, her lips in a forced smile that sets Regina's teeth on edge.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

A smooth chuckle reaches out to her, touching her with cold talons, make her step back without realizing she's done so as ice streaks up her limbs.

"Oh, Regina. Is that any way to greet your mother?"

Bile pushes its way up her throat, burning, singeing, but she swallows down the impulse to be sick, not wanting to show the first sign of weakness here-not with her mother.

Or the ghost of her mother. Whatever the hell she is.

"It is when you're supposed to be dead."

Her smile is reminiscent of the one she gave Daniel just before she ripped out his heart, and Regina shivers as Cora moves in her direction, her feet gliding soundlessly over crisp grass. Fall blusters around them, its breath whirling leaves around her boots, although the air now bears the distinctive bite of winter-stale, cold and foreboding.

"Death is so misinterpreted by the living," Cora hums, reaching out to touch Regina's cheek, missing it by inches as the younger woman steps back yet again. "The underworld is simply another portal, my dearest, one with stronger barriers, one from which it is difficult to escape, but still simply another realm of existence with rules of its own."

"Rules you've managed to sidestep?"

Cora stands without blinking.

"Only those that don't suit me." There's a glint in her eyes, one similar to what Regina saw when her mother's spirit tried to destroy Snow.

"And just how did you manage a _Get out of Hell Free_ card?" Regina asks, wrapping her arms around herself as the wind picks up.

Cora's smile is broad, full of teeth and venom.

"Not by sharing my secrets. Knowing when you hold your tongue is an art you never quite mastered. Of course, neither is choosing the right man."

Her legs feel leaden-weighted, as if they've grown roots to the spot in which she stands.

"Who I love is none of your business, mother," Regina hisses, her words taking on vaporous form as they brush against the cold. "I'm not seventeen any more."

Lines harden around lips and eyes, creasing into skin a shade too pale for the living.

"No," Cora utters. "You're not. But you keep making the same mistakes, Regina. I honestly thought you would learn by now."

Hands gesture towards her expanding middle, and Regina wraps her arms around her stomach instinctively, protectively, taking a step back even as she straightens her spine.

"This baby isn't a mistake. _None_ of my children are mistakes."

Heat fills her, the words she just uttered standing around her like fiery sentinels. It's then that Roland calls out her name, and she whips around to see him, the child's arms flailing madly in her direction, and she wants to magically summon the boy into her chest and to dissipate into thin air, back to her home, away from danger, away from her mother.

But there's the baby. She's discovered that her unborn child and magic don't always get along.

"How did you find him, Regina?"

"Who? Robin?"

His name leaves her lips before she thinks it through, its texture scaling across undead eyes before a smirk curls knowingly across Cora's mouth.

"No, although I suppose the two of them do come as a set."

Ice splinters in her abdomen, freezing her veins as she casts another look towards the preschooler tossing breadcrumbs into the air.

"Yes," Cora utters, sliding in her daughter's direction. "I'm far more interested in the boy."

Sick dread seizes her everywhere at once.

"I won't let you hurt him, Mother."

Cora stops then, her form suspended in time as she stares through her daughter at little the boy playing by the pond.

"I have no intention of hurting him. I simply want to know if he has magic."

"Roland? You think Roland has magic? Why?"

"Oh come now, Regina," Cora interrupts, her patience obviously as thin as Regina's coat suddenly feels. "After all of the trouble I took to conceal and protect him, to make certain he was cared for while I saved you from certain ruin, you shouldn't be surprised to know that I'm curious if the boy has potential or if he's as common as his father."

She can't feel her legs and wonders just how they are managing to hold her up, thankful for the fact that they are as her head begins to spin unsteadily.

"I don't understand…"

Spots scatter across her vision, and she turns in spite of them, gazing at Roland with eyes trying to focus through fog. The child she bore-the one she can't remember-the one ripped from her body and memory-could it be? No-this is impossible, would be too ironic, but he looks like her, Snow has commented on it more than once as has Robin. And he's _Robin's_-the child of her soul mate, her lover, the man she ran from in a panic and left sitting in a tavern.

Or did she?

"Careful, dear."

Cold fingers grip her arms, holding her upright as her mind snaps back into reason. She stares into her mother, eye to eye, knowledge meeting suspicion in a collision that changes life as she knows it.

"He's my son, isn't he? Oh, God, Roland is my son."

Her lips tremble as the whispered fact leaves them, and dark eyes rimmed with red narrow into slits, taking in Regina's genuine shock with a shake of her head.

"I've always given you too much credit," Cora states, releasing her daughter when she regains her balance. "Of course, my skill at casting a memory spell has always exceeded yours, but I thought you were quicker than this, Regina."

She shoves herself away from her mother, staring, gaping, trying to breathe, trying to understand as waves of nausea smack her from behind. Her lips move independent of speech, her mind trying to reassemble splintered shards into something resembling logic.

"But, Marian-"

"Conveniently lost the child she carried," Cora supplies with a shrug of indifference. "It made replacing her baby with yours all the easier."

Regina bends at the waist, dry heaving until bile pushes its way up her throat and out her mouth. She wretches once, twice, three times on to grass and fallen leaves before standing and wiping her lips, dabbing tears from her cheeks as raw anger takes over.

"Don't look at me like that," Cora purrs. "At least I allowed him to be raised by his father, and Evangeline took extraordinary care of him in Neverland until it was time for him to return to the Enchanted Forest. Gray fairies actually do have their uses, you know."

"Robin and I had a child-a child you took from me-kept from me and gave to some fucking charcoal fairy, and you don't think you did anything wrong?" The world spins around around her, but she refuses to faint, not here, not with Roland within Cora's reach. "Of course, this shouldn't surprise me, coming from a woman who abandoned her firstborn and left her alone to die."

"Stop being overdramatic, dear. It's not good for the baby." She's seething now, her mother's sense of calm only infuriating her further. "And Zelena didn't die, dear. No harm, no foul."

"No harm?"

She can't see straight, and she knows she has to calm herself for the sake of her child. But this collision course she and Zelena have been on since before Regina even knew of her sister's existence, and Roland-her son not only by choice but now also by birth, her son by Robin-it all hits her at once. Red tints her vision, a fury like none she's ever known crackling just under her skin, the need to unleash her pain on its source held in check only by her swollen belly and the life nestled just within.

"You've caused more harm that any Dark One ever conceived of doing. At least Rumple cared about his son."

"Yet he abandoned him when it served his purposes. Children can't become your entire life, dear. It's unhealthy."

Regina laughs then, a brittle, bitter sound she wishes left no aftertaste in her mouth.

"You, who controlled most of my life, who tore love out of my arms more than once, you now have the audacity to stand here and try to offer parenting advice? How dare you, mother? How dare you?"

"You should be thanking me, Regina. My actions probably saved your life, and your thief's, as well."

"Thanking you?"

She's shaking, uncertain if it is her legs or the earth that trembles. The roar in her ears is nearly deafening, but she takes a step towards her mother, feeling a modicum of satisfaction that this time it is Cora who steps back.

"Tell me, what would have happened had Leopold managed to find the two of you and your love child? He mounted quite the search for you, his young, lost queen, left no stone unturned, offered rewards large enough to tempt an army. You know damn well he would have had both you and Robin executed if he'd found the two of you together, and then who knows what would have happened to the baby." Long fingers reach towards her face, bejeweled and white-knuckled, ever-regal, even in the grip of death. "Oh, Regina. I couldn't let that happen, not that I cared about that bearded reprobate of yours. But you and my grandson-I had to protect the two of you."

"Don't ever call him that." She slaps away the cold hand cupping her cheek and leans in, her teeth bared, her face wet. "You will not touch my children-not any of them, mother. They are off-limits, all three of them."

Cora shakes her head, looking from Regina's middle to the boy now running in their direction. His feet don't slow until he's right beside her, and Regina takes his hand instinctively, fighting back the urge to clasp him to her as tightly as she can and never let him go. Cora watches her, watches them, her gaze shifting from shrewd to dismissive as the boy moves closer into Regina's side.

"I should have known you'd disappoint me, dear. And to think, you could have been the mother of kings."

No magic then. Her mother senses no magic in Roland. _Thank God_, she mouths to herself, releasing a breath she's held until her lungs can't stand it anymore. Her arm wraps around the boy who clasps her legs like a lifeline, and she thinks he must sense something off in the woman staring back at him, something that makes him bury his face in her coat and hug her all the tighter.

"Perhaps Zelena's child, then."

Then she's gone as quickly as she'd appeared.

The sense of cold that accompanied Cora's presence warms into a seasonal autumn chill, but the residue of what she left in her wake coats her inside and out. She kneels before her legs give way, crunchy leaves scattering at her descent, and she nearly melts at the sensation of small hands cupping her cheeks as she looks into eyes both new and familiar.

"Why are you crying, Gina?"

His words only make her cry harder, and she takes his small hand to her lips, placing a soft kiss to his palm, wondering if she'd done the same when he'd taken his first breaths. How long had she held him before he'd been stripped from her life? Had she counted the fingers that now wipe her wet cheek? Had she marvelled at dark lashes that now blink back at her in concerned confusion?

Had his father cradled him against his chest before the life they'd chosen became one her mother chose to rewrite without their permission?

Just as she'd done to Snow all those years ago. A fresh slice of pain nearly severs her into.

"Gina?"

She hugs Roland then, and he hugs her back, the feeling of his little hand patting her back suddenly the most wondrous thing in the world.

"I'm alright, Roland," she lies, leaning back far enough to see him, to tug a stray curl from his eyes, to stare at him yet again and wonder how she could have been with this child all this time and yet not have known that he's _hers_. "I just...I just love you."

Dimples split open his smile, and then he's kissing her cheek, imprinting her soul in ways he cannot begin to fathom.

"Then we're even," he grins, looking around them as a breeze tugs at his hair. Small eyes then grow serious, wary, even, and he gazes around the park as if looking for something, clutching Regina's hand again as she pushes herself up from the ground.

"That lady. She's watching us."

Her vision scans their surroundings, but she sees nothing, finds no sign of her mother.

"No, sweetheart. She's gone."

He shakes his head insistently, his eyes narrowing slightly before he looks back up at her.

"No," he breathes, his confusion squeezing her already sensitive heart. Understanding dawns before he continues, and she breaks into a cold sweat as renewed fear claws its way up her legs at the untapped magic showing it's face for the first time. "She's still here. I can feel her. And she knows it."


End file.
